Erotica Every Day: 30 Flash Fiction Stories

By Giselle Renarde

Got a minute? Read a quickie!

Erotica Every Day includes thirty works of flash fiction by award-winning author Giselle Renarde—that’s one for every day of the month, if you can wait that long to read them. Once you start, you might never want to stop! You’ll get a delicious taste of fetish fiction featuring heels, panties, balloons, human furniture, public nudity and stranger sex. Enjoy stories about bondage and wife watching, food play and foot worship, brilliant sunshine and delightful darkness.

There’s a little something for everyone in this collection, so get ready for a frenzy of flashers!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Giselle Renarde
• Release date: Aug 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463444139

Giselle Renarde

Giselle Renarde is a queer Canadian, avid volunteer, and contributor to more than 100 short story anthologies, including Best Women's Erotica, Best Lesbian Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica, and Best Lesbian Romance. Ms Renarde has written dozens of juicy books, including Anonymous, Ondine, and Nanny State. Her book The Red Satin Collection won Best Transgender Romance in the 2012 Rainbow Awards. Giselle lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.

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Erotica Every Day © 2018 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

Cover design © 2018 Giselle Renarde

First Edition 2018

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Erotica Every Day

30 Flash Fiction Stories

By Giselle Renarde

1

Trust Me

I’m fully naked.

She’s fully dressed.

Under cover of darkness, she’s managed to convince me to come out with her, out to the back garden. This is so unlike me, to be naked outdoors. Just her backyard, you might say, but a backyard is still visible to neighbours. Sure it’s three in the morning. Sure she’s got a high wooden fence. But say the couple next door can’t sleep. Say they get out of bed to look out the second storey window. That hedge would probably block their view, but you never know. You just never know.

I curl my arms around my bare breasts as she sits on the stone bench. When she sees me concealing my nakedness, she takes hold of my hands. She stretches my arms out at my sides to get a good look at me.

Does she like what she sees? I wish she’d give me some indication. I’ve betrayed my boundaries for her. The least I deserve is a nod or a smirk.

Instead, she tugs me into her lap—no, not so I’m sitting. The other way. She’s upended me. She’s got my ass in the air. She’s got my head hanging so close to the ground I can smell the damp aroma of earth and grass in the pre-dawn hours.

I steady myself, palms pressing against the thick, lush lawn. Why would she overturn me like this? Well, that question’s got an easy answer. Why else would she expose my ass to the cool night air?

My bare skin tremors as she circles her hand slowly around one cheek, then the other. She doesn’t have to tell me she loves my ass. That much is obvious. It shows in the way she touches it gently, touches the smoothness of my skin. It shows, also, in the way she strikes my innocent flesh so firmly it rattles my bones.

I wish I had something to bite down on or scream into, but I have nothing out here. Only the crisp night air, and you can’t bite that. Every time she smacks my ass, it burns like the fires of hell. Every spanking lands in the perfect place, centered on one cheek or the other. My skin blazes with every blow.

Imagine if I were to scream each time her hand slapped my poor naked skin. Imagine if I were to let loose, wriggle and writhe and cry like I do indoors. Imagine if I were to do all that out here.

The neighbours would come to the window for sure. They’d call the cops, most likely.

She must know I’d never do that to her. She must trust me that much.

2

Knee Socks

Hard to believe a man with a name like Bobby would have the audacity to call out his girlfriend for her juvenile traits. So what if Veronica liked wearing knee socks? So what if she bought them in argyle, in candy cane stripes, in colour blocks, in piano key patterns? Her socks were cute and they were fun.

If Bobby had a problem with that, he could shove it!

Not that Bobby was her problem any longer. They broke up more than a month ago.

Why couldn’t she stop obsessing?

She knew she needed to move on—she just wasn’t ready. She thought about him every day. Sometimes fondly. Sometimes not.

When she dressed that morning, she picked out her cute corduroy skirt. Corduroy went well with a jean jacket. Which socks, though? Big decision. How about the white ones with the pretty pink ribbons at the top?

Oh, Bobby hated those! They were probably his least favourite pair because they reminded him of baby clothes. How could he go on dating a girl who dressed like a child—at least as far as her legs were concerned?

Well, he wasn’t dating her anymore.

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

Veronica popped in at the café on her way to work. The place was packed, but she really wanted to sit down and read her book like she did every day. She spotted one empty chair, at an occupied bistro table. A redhead with a laptop sat there working away. A young professional, just like her, though Bobby would have said no one would take her seriously thanks to the socks.

Excuse me, Veronica said to the woman. Do you mind if I share your table? I’m just going to read my book. I promise I won’t bother you.

The redhead looked up from her computer. At first, it didn’t seem as though Veronica’s words had registered. And then the young woman fixed